Just A Dream

Musings on life in another reality.

I am a creative. First and foremost, it is my calling. I love research, which makes me live a somewhat organized life. I think it’s the Virgo sun in me. I can’t draw or paint, so I’m not an artist.

But I can write.

I can take photos.

I can film videos.

I can play the guitar and sometimes sing.

I can knit and crochet.

And the only way I can describe myself is creative. My husband gets so frustrated with me sometimes, “you don’t listen,” he’ll say. Earlier today we were walking home from the post office in our little beach town. The spring break visitors are arriving in droves and our once quiet cove of the world takes on an entirely new persona. I giggled to myself as I walked out of the post office and a girl, on a bachelorette trip I’m sure, said, “this is the cutest post office I’ve ever seen!”

Apparently, this is when my husband and I had a full conversation about the package we’d just picked up and what was inside. But, I somehow missed those words spoken. I was instead in my own head, thinking about the story of that girl.

Where did she come from? Who was she? What has she experienced?

I do this a lot. Craft stories based on a short interaction. So, when I asked my husband, halfway on our walk home what was in the box, he sighed and repeated the words I’ve heard him say before, “You don’t listen.”

I need to become better about that. But it’s not because he isn’t interesting. He’s actually one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. It’s because my inner world is so rich, so loud, so full of stories and sounds and imaginings, that it’s hard for me to be present all the time.

I know, that’s a poor excuse, but I love my world.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on what would truly make me happy. Like, what would I want to do with every day of my life. And what I always come back to, is that I would be happy being able to be in my own world. To create from whatever comes out of it.

I think that would be a pretty marvelous life.

But, alas, it’s not life. Instead, there are bills to pay. A child to be taken care of and loved on. A husband who wants to have conversation (how dare he). A real Earthly life to be lived.

So, instead, I’ll dream about that day when I can just create.

Maybe I’m already there, in a parallel life. Or maybe it will always be just a dream.